Boudica

Go. Fight your fight. Claim, “Warrior.”
And when you climb
knife on hip, finger nails and
bloodied palms, covered in dirt
maybe you’ll earn a fraction of that title.

And when you find enough spine
to frame back broken from the weight
of everything you’ve finally owned,
long overdue water-bearing, vessel clutching, foot-stomping uphill
only to see entire ridges of mountains before you
maybe you’ll swallow a drop of resolve.

And while you waste time claiming strength,
I will seek,
tearing, ripping, body bruised and sweat dripping,
knowing that it is not enough.

And while you place plastic crowns on makeshift mantles
I will have built fire and forge, cast and iron,
system and map to Woman the likes of which this world has yet to see.